


darkroom

by soulofme



Series: sheith sentence prompts [18]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Dreams, M/M, Memories, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 16:46:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15393075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulofme/pseuds/soulofme
Summary: Shiro buys a dream to hold on to someone who's already gone.





	darkroom

**Author's Note:**

> sentence prompt #22: i think we should stop seeing each other.

_Thanks for walking me home_ , he tells Shiro, his voice barely above a whisper. He sounds nervous, like he’s saying the wrong thing, but he’s not. He never is, because he’s incapable of doing anything wrong. Perfection doesn’t exist, except for in the boy rocking on his heels on his front porch.

Shiro knows, logically, that it’s not his voice. It’s a memory, stretched thin and remodeled into something achingly familiar.

He lets it play out.

He sees a silhouette, something that’s dark and constantly moving. It nearly blends into the faded edge of the scene, where the tiny warm house becomes the cold, unforgiving walls of the darkroom. Shiro has to squint to see it, to let his brain rearrange the features into whatever it wants.

(“Keep in mind,” Allura tells him regretfully, “that your dream may become a nightmare.”)

 _No problem_ , Shiro tells him. He smiles, a tiny little thing that makes Shiro want to do anything in his power to see again. _I just wanted to make sure you’re safe_.

 _Well_ , he clears his throat, shrugging his shoulder, the smile on his face cautious now. _Here I am. Safe._

There’s something charged in the air, something that makes Shiro swallow hard and race to think of something to fill the silence between them. He feels expectant eyes on the side of his face and his mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton, drier than any desert in the world combined.

_Keith…_

_I don’t want you to go_ , he says, in a voice so delicate that Shiro feels himself positively melt.

(“If that’s the case, we’ll need to suspend the dream immediately.” Allura poises her pen over the pad. “I’ll need a word, or maybe a phrase. Something that will force you awake.”)

Shiro’s heart thrums like there’s a hummingbird in his chest, flapping its wings furiously. He can’t breathe and wonders if he’ll pass out from oxygen loss. Before he can mutter a response, something that’ll make him look less like a dork, he feels lips press against the corner of his own.

 _Then I won’t_ , Shiro finally replies, letting Keith curl their fingers together and tug him inside.

The scene shifts, the world blurring and smoothing until there’s a car, parked at an overlook. Keith’s standing with his toes to the edge, leaning against the railing, and panic spikes in Shiro’s chest.

_You’re going to fall!_

Keith shakes his head, the setting sun casting him in a soft, orange glow. He presses into Shiro’s side but doesn’t take his eyes away from the city below them.

 _You’ll catch me_ , he says, as if it’s a fact and not a guess, and Shiro wonders if he really knows how much he means to him.

(He thinks about it. Allura waits patiently, giving him all the time he needs.)

They’re at Shiro’s apartment now.

Side by side, pressed together from head to toe. Keith has a hand on his face, his thumb stroking against his temple, the bridge of his nose, his lips. Shiro pulls him in close, close like he’s trying to melt them together, and brushes Keith’s bangs away from his eyes.

 _Shiro_ , Keith’s voice is honey-warm and sleep-thick _, I think I love you._

I think I love you. I think I love you.

Shiro repeats it over and over, until he swears the words are somehow imprinted on his brain. They don’t feel real, even then, and he feels like he’s about to burst.

 _I think I love you too_.

(“I have it,” he says, and when he tells Allura he swears he sees her freeze.)

It’s cold.

It’s so, so cold, and Shiro feels his teeth chattering. He tries to lift his head, but a sharp pain forces him back down. When he shifts his hand, he feels glass shredding his skin.

He doesn’t know what this is. It’s not a memory. He’d remember something like this.

Everything is white and Shiro realizes it’s snowing. Keith loves the snow. Shiro reaches for it.

A snowflake falls onto his hand, and the scene shifts again.

(“Alright,” Allura scribbles the words down and smiles tentatively at him. “Ready?”)

Shiro’s car, with Keith in the passenger seat.

There’s a map spread out on his lap, a red marker clutched tightly in one hand. He must feel Shiro’s eyes on him because he smirks.

_Eyes on the road, Takashi._

He forces his gaze away and drums his fingers on the steering wheel.

 _Where to next?_ He asks, and listens as Keith’s rich laughter fills the car.

 _Anywhere_ , he breathes.

(“Ready,” Shiro says, even as his heart hammers in his chest.)

He’s back in the cold with the snow.

Shiro’s in a car, he realizes. A car wreck, to be more accurate, and the driver’s side is crushed on top of him. There’s no way out. He’s trapped and he almost screams as fear digs its icy claws into his spine.

Nightmare, he thinks. He’s in a nightmare and he’ll need to wake up soon. But he wants to see Keith. Just one more time.

(“I hope you get what you’re looking for,” Allura whispers as she puts him under.)

Keith’s sitting on the bed, knees to his chest and arms crossed over them. He’s watching Shiro intently and Shiro finds himself biting back a laugh.

 _Enjoying the view?_  He asks, crawling towards Keith, towel still securely around his hips.

Keith sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and reaches for the edge of it, tugging till it comes loose in his hand.

 _Immensely_ , he says, wiggling beneath Shiro impatiently.

Shiro lifts a hand to Keith’s face but his fingers slip through. Keith is gone and he hears the blood roaring in his ears as he looks around the room. His room is cold and empty, and when he sits up he’s at a bar, back pressed to it and the taste of whiskey lingering on his tongue.

A woman sits next to him, dark haired and deathly pale. She hums along softly to the music and turns curious eyes to him.

 _Someone break your heart, handsome?_ She asks.

Shiro rubs a thumb along the rim of his glass. _Something like that._

(“You can do this,” Shiro tries to remind himself. It doesn’t feel as reassuring as he hoped.)

He’s in the wreck again. Everything hurts and Shiro feels his fingers start to become numb. The beginnings of frostbite, he’s sure. Hypothermia will be soon to follow. He very well may die out here.

(“Shiro!” Someone’s shouting. Allura. “I need to pull you out.”)

He takes the woman home. She puts her hands on his belt and he freezes, his entire body rejecting her. She stops and shakes her head, stepping back.

 _You still love them,_ she says, sympathetic and quiet, _go get them back_.

 _I can’t_ , Shiro tells her, _he doesn’t want me anymore._

She holds him and lets him cry into her shoulder.

(“I’m sorry.” Allura sounds like she means it.)

Nothing hurts now.

It’s like the cold is protecting him from his own mind. Shiro shuts his eyes and fully embraces it.

Keith’s there, then, shaking his head. Shiro recognizes this scene and tries to will it away. His brain doesn’t listen.

 _I’m not good enough for you,_ Keith’s whispering, _I’m holding you back._

 _That’s not true!_ Shiro’s insistent, pleading. _Keith, don’t do this. Please don’t do this to me._

 _I’m sorry, Takashi,_ he pulls Shiro down to his height, presses a kiss to the corner of his lips, just like the first time. It hurts more than anything. _Shiro, I think—_

(“I think we should stop seeing each other.”)

Shiro’s eyes snap open. He’s in the darkroom. His heart is beating wildly in his chest.

He’s alive.

“Shiro?”

He looks at Allura’s worried face. Around him, photos of him and Keith line the walls. Photos he provided, that he’d kept even though they were too painful to look at again.

“You brought me back,” he says. Allura sighs quietly.

“You were having a nightmare,” she says. She taps her pen against her notepad. “Are you alright?”

“He’s gone.” _Still_.

“I’m sorry,” Allura says again. “Sometimes, the dream triggers unwanted memories. I didn’t want to pull you out, but…”

“I just wanted to see him again.”

“You could have died,” Allura replies. She sets her pen down. “You don’t want that, Shiro. Trust me.”

Shiro sits up in the bed and presses his hands to his head.

“Why do you do this?” he asks. He’s never gotten the chance to before.

“Sometimes we don’t get the closure we need,” Allura replies honestly, standing. She begins to unpin the pictures around them, setting them gently in a bin. Shiro wants to tell her to burn them all.

He can’t quite form the words.

“I’ve found that we tend to fixate on strong memories, good or bad,” she says. “Buying a dream forces those memories to light, even if we’ve tried to forget them. I wanted to help others cope with their grief and come to terms with whatever may have happened.”

She unclips the last photo and adds it to the bin. Keith’s gone again.

Shiro turns his gaze away from the empty walls and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget him,” he admits.

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Allura says. She hands him the bin. “You love him a lot. I can tell.”

Shiro grabs it, gripping hard until the plastic rim digs harshly into his hands.

“I always will,” he says.

Allura just smiles sadly at him.


End file.
